


The Human from Below

by Lunasta_Freehart



Series: We Acquire Rare Goods [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Forgotten Realms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 12:37:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3650604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunasta_Freehart/pseuds/Lunasta_Freehart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An adventuring company forms after a young sun elf meets a strange youth and others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Why is it Always Cultists?

**Author's Note:**

> Don't take this too seriously. Based in part on my DnD group's adventures. The setting, the Forgotten Realms, is someone else's. Or something. It's kind of vague, really.
> 
> Thanks to Kat-Why for help with Meryn.

Ganfell was very surprised that gods were real. He had lived his adolescent life--- all of a century--- in the elven countryside, and never had he seen any indication of the existence of gods. Sure, he was a wizard. Sure, his people are widely considered descendants of gods. But that never meant anything to him. Magic was the tool of mortals, he had decided years prior. Whether it be a gift from a benevolent or fanciful font of omnipotence was yet to be seen. Naturally, he was shocked when the ground opened up and took him with it. Obviously, he was perplexed upon finding out a cult was responsible. Accordingly, he became angry when he found that the cult believed intended to use him as a sacrifice. It was only a matter of time before the cultists laid dead at Ganfell’s feet, and the sun elf doubled over, bleeding out quickly.

A brilliant light shone from the centre of the bloody room. “Stand, elfkin.” The voice was gentle, yet booming, and could have been any gender, or none. 

Ganfell was this close to making a sarcastic remark when he suddenly felt the familiar tingle of healing magic wash over him, and he stood straight, shielding his eyes from the shining figure. “Thank you.” He took a deep breath, and exhaled sharply. “Now, tell me. Who are you? What are you?”  
The figure moved its hand slowly, nodding just as slow. “I am Oghma, god of knowledge.”  
“A god, eh?” Ganfell had reasoned this when the figure was summoned, and then his idea was reinforced after watching the light more or less instantly kill everyone but it and Ganfell. “Right. Okay. Noted,” he sighed, then blinked. “Wait. No, hold on. This cult was looking for Vec-something.”  
“Vecna. God/dess of shadows and secrets and such,” the ethereal voice corrected. “They did the ritual wrong, for they have summoned me. Are you alright?”  
Ganfell nodded slowly, “Err. Yeah. Thanks. But why didn’t you just kill me?”  
The figure visibly shrugged, “It may prove more fruitful. I shall allow you to leave this place, but…”

“Yeah? What?” Ganfell was willing to do whatever it took to keep his life. “Anything. Even something sexual!”  
“You will be an agent of me. My eyes, ears, and hands in the mortal plane. You will be a prophet, and the only one who can directly talk to me. I will guide you, and you will prosper.”  
Ganfell was regretting saying ‘anything’, but he really didn’t have a choice. “Very well.” He decided it was best to bow at that moment, so he did.  
The figure disappeared with a flash, and Ganfell was alone. He traipsed around the bloodied bodies littering the floor, and looked for a way out of the ruins the cult had made their home. The sun elf made his way over to a door when a tremor shook him to the ground. “Bugger,” he cursed as he pulled himself to his feet. Looking around, he thanked whatever was responsible for diverting the rock ceiling from landing on the door instead of the obvious spot--- him. 

“Don’t mention it,” a calm voice said.  
Ganfell swung around, looking for the source, “What? Hello?”  
“Be quiet! I told you, you’re my prophet.” Ganfell came to the altogether obvious conclusion that it was Oghma, speaking directly into his head. “You have alerted someone of your presence. I… do not know who.”

Before Ganfell could find out, he was surrounded by extremely pale savages with glowing eyes. “You,” the leader said, brandishing a spear, poking Ganfell’s neck with it. “You are not from proud tribe. Who are you?”  
The elf went into his pocket for his wand, finding it where he left it, but snapped in two. 

“Take your hands out of your pocket,” the leader of the gang demanded, and Ganfell obliged immediately. Thinking fast, the latter waved his hands around, creating illusionary fire and butterflies and glitter. He had hoped he could distract the tribesmen long enough to run into the cult ruins and grab a weapon, but the leader shouted in anger, rallying his seven guards: five men, and two women, all in tattered grey clothes. They quickly surrounded Ganfell, and he was all out of ideas.


	2. Actually Down Under

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ganfell the Elf rolls a history check and finds out about his captors.

Word around Bodenstadt was that a prisoner was in the stockades. Of course, they wouldn’t tell anyone who it was, since everyone knew everyone in the tribe, and if anyone heard someone unknown was arrested, then the Elders would have to deal with pesky questions, like ‘There is an outside?’ and ‘People live outside, too?’ and the subsequent ‘When can I go outside?’  


“Alright, let him out,” a man in robes announced. Clean, well-kept robes unlike the clothes the others wear. His beard was neatly brushed, and kept down to his chest, white as the marble his home is undoubtedly carved from. The guards surrounding Ganfell released him from the stocks, letting him fall to the dirt-covered store. He stared for a moment at the shadows on the massive cave’s ceiling, before he pushed himself back up, dusting himself off. The guards pushed him into a large building, and he was dragged behind the robed man, into a small room with two old women and another old men, all wearing pristine robes.  


“State your name,” the youngest of the women said.  
“You first,” Ganfell coughed, lungs filled with dust and probably blood.  


“I am Elder Sali,” she gestured to the other woman, “this is Elder Haelys” and to the white-bearded man, “Elder Denar,” and the other man, “Elder Randow.”  


He took a sharp breath and said bitterly, “Ganfell. Sun elf. Born under the whispering moon. One hundred years old, orphaned at birth. I hate sugar and hard work. I love riddles and playing cards!” The sun elf was getting visibly angry, “Is that… good… enough?”  


The elders nodded silently. Denar stood, pacing around Ganfell. “See. We are the Elders of this tribe. We are the sole holders of secrets. We alone know that there is an outside world, that magic exists, and that we once lived above ground. We alone know our tribe’s history. We control the breeding here. Not too many people can survive down here at once. Likewise, not too few, or we die out. And we need to keep them from inbreeding. We encourage same-sex and celibate partnerships to achieve the balance.”

Ganfell waited for him to stop talking. “Right. So. What's your history?” He hoped that if he did this for Oghma, his ass would be saved again.  
“You will be executed. Soon. We will oblige your question first, though,” Sali said. “Elder Haelys, if you would.”  
“Long ago….” She began.  
Ganfell coughed, “Lame!”  
“A long time ago…”  
“Rip-off!” Ganfell's tongue was sticking out as long as he could get it.  


Haelys was becoming infuriated. “In time immemorial, there was a group of refugees, cast out from their village by a loathsome mage. They swore that day that their children should live without the fear of magic-wielders. So, they found this cave, and learned how to grow earthwood and mushroom farms. They became the first elders, and they kept the secrets from their children, until they grew near death. Then, they passed their secrets to the most responsible of the next generation, and so forth.”

Ganfell could knit with his eyebrows at this point, “So, to be clear. You are all a bunch of humans that drove themselves underground because of one bully? Geez, guys. What do you even call this cave?”

“Bodenstadt. The world below. To the people that live here, the only world.” Elder Randow stood, “Now, Ganfell Under the Whispering Moon, you will be taken back to the stocks, and you will be killed soon aft---“  
A guard nearly slammed the door off its hinges to speak to the Elders, bowing quickly while panting, “My… lords… Jothan has been robbed. He’s threatening to reveal who the prisoner is.”  


“Can’t have that, can we?” Ganfell said bitterly, his words dripping with spite.


End file.
